Middle Eastern tyrants

Chapter 84 The Night Before Dawn
Galam, 45th Armored Brigade, Zion.

Major General Cohen had just finished a call with the Tel Aviv headquarters when he strode out of the room and said, "Arrange a car for me; I'm going to the front lines for an inspection."

Captain Azora of the guard company exclaimed in alarm: "Major General, the enemy's shelling hasn't stopped yet. It's very dangerous now."

“Don’t worry,” Major General Cohen replied, “we’ll find out how dangerous it is in a bit.”

Captain Azora had no choice but to arrange a military jeep and drive the major general himself.

The two men approached a point three or four kilometers from the Euphrates River. Major General Cohen listened intently and then said, "The Al-Iraq's artillery barrage has weakened."

Captain Azora: "Perhaps it's because they're resupplying with ammunition? Their 9th Armored Division has been shelling continuously for 24 hours."

“No,” Major General Cohen replied, “They have retreated! I just received news that the Kurds in the north have pushed their front line to the outskirts of Baghdad, and the Al-Iraq people across the river must have gone back to support their homeland!”
The troops remaining on the opposite bank of the river are likely their feint force, sent to prevent us from discovering their retreat prematurely.

Captain Azora looked somewhat embarrassed. So you know everything, then why do you need me to be your straight man?
"Perhaps we can try to pursue them now?" the staff officer suggested tentatively. "Let's seize this opportunity to achieve even greater merit."

As a result, Major General Cohen turned around and got into the car, and Lieutenant Azola and his staff officer hurriedly followed.

"The flame tanks are all ready?"

“Yes, Major General,” Captain Azora said. “Are you preparing to mop up the enemy outside the city?”

"Our enemies are not outside the city, but the guerrillas inside the city."

Major General Cohen said, "They are the most resolute in their resistance to Zion, and they know every corner of the city well. They are as slippery as eels on the beach. If we want to wipe them out in one fell swoop, we have to find a way to force them all out."

Captain Azora's throat tightened as he realized what those flame tanks were for.

The group arrived at the wide street. Lieutenant Colonel Benjamin of the Special Armored Battalion saw his superior and quickly stood at attention and saluted: "Major General!"

Major General Cohen: "I hope you fill your tanks with fuel, because I don't want to see them stop firing halfway through."

"Don't worry, in addition to flamethrowers, we have also prepared Molotov cocktails and poison gas bombs!" Lieutenant Colonel Benjamin showed their equipment to the Major General.

The major general nodded in satisfaction.

At this point, the chief of staff asked, "Then how do we distinguish guerrillas? Before they draw their guns, they are no different from civilians."

“There’s no need to distinguish,” Major General Cohen said casually. “His Excellency the President just issued permission for a ‘cleansing,’ allowing us to use extreme measures to annihilate the enemy to a certain extent. As soon as we start burning the streets, those guerrillas will certainly not stand idly by.”

When you see anyone who dares to resist, just kill them on sight.

Captain Azora couldn't help but say, "But this would also cause us to kill a lot of civilians by mistake, and it would be no different from a massacre!"

“Listen.” Major General Cohen walked up to the captain and stared into his eyes: “In my opinion, the lives of a hundred second-class citizens are not worth as much as one of our excellent soldiers!”
They should have died gloriously on the battlefield or returned home to enjoy warmth, but now these soldiers have fallen in a dark alley because of rats in a stinking ditch.

Now those guerrillas, even their own government has abandoned them, and what we need to do is burn these rats and their rat holes to ashes!

Now, carry out the orders, Captain!

Captain Azora gritted his teeth and saluted: "Yes, General."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The orange-red flames dyed half of the sky above Galam red.

"Still no contact with Al-Ilag's army?"

"The guerrilla base," Ahmed asked, noting that almost everyone present was wounded.

"Not yet," the telegraph operator said, listening to the hissing sound coming from the radio. "Perhaps the Zionians have blocked the signal; we can't hear anything now."

"Those lunatics actually set the entire city on fire just to force us out!" Qasim said angrily.

"If the government troops don't arrive soon, Galam will be completely wiped out!"

"Could it be that the government forces have given up the offensive?" a guerrilla fighter worriedly. "I heard the artillery fire outside the city getting weaker."

Her words caused a stir.

Although they successfully captured the radio station, the water treatment plant, and several key blocks, they were slow to receive support from the government forces.

Suddenly, a violent tremor came, and the kerosene lamp in the corner shook violently.

An observer climbed down from the ventilation duct, his face covered in soot: "The Zionist flamethrower tanks have reached Rose Square! They're burning down the library!" Ahmed grabbed his binoculars and climbed up to the attic. Through the withered branches of the potted plants, he saw three flamethrower tanks burning an ancient building.

The soldiers in Zion wore gas masks, and loudspeakers behind them broadcast evacuation warnings in Arabic on a loop, but anyone who dared to flee was mercilessly shot.

"We have to go save them!" Qasim grabbed his weapon and was about to rush out.

"Stop!" A female guerrilla fighter, her eyes red with tears, stopped him. "Have you forgotten how Piev died? We can't handle tanks!"

Suddenly, the door on the roof was kicked open, and a woman carrying a baby stumbled in. Her headscarf was on fire, but the child in her arms was eerily quiet.

Ahmed quickly used a blanket to extinguish the flames on the woman's body, and then he noticed that half of the child's body was stained orange-red by napalm.

"Please," the woman pleaded, her fingernails digging into Ahmed's arm. "Dr. Hassan said you could hide here."

The sound of tank engines could be heard in the distance. Ahmed handed an AK rifle to his nephew Qasim: "Take everyone and retreat through the sewers!"

"how about you?"

“Someone has to hold them off.” Ahmed shouldered his RPG and said without turning his head:
"Switch to a public channel and keep calling for backup, don't stop!"

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Shuangzhi, an expeditionary force in the northern border region.

Lu Lin had just received a call from Kozonie on Al-Iraq's side, informing him that Al-Iraq was preparing to retreat.

"What a bunch of good-for-nothings!" Bandar cursed. "They actually abandoned their own people!"

Ibrahim: "We now have only two paths before us: either retreat or continue forward."

Tamiye raised his hand: "Actually, I prefer to retreat now, after all, we've already captured quite a few Zions. Alright, I'll listen to the Major General!"

Lu Lin stared at the military map. From the Sinai Peninsula to the Golan Heights, from the Euphrates River to the Persian Gulf, the fate of each front was actually closely intertwined.

Zion's oil ambitions in Kirkuk not only threaten the Santiago, but will also erode the entire Arab world like cancer cells.

We must move forward!

Lu Lin's voice was very firm: "We must fight the Zionites to the end. This is not for any particular country, but for the future of the Arab nation."

The current Arab coalition is not an independent army, but allies standing on a united front. We must convey our determination to fight to the end to Al-Iraq and to all Arab countries!
This world needs someone to stand up, the Arab world needs someone to stand up!

Ibrahim looked at his major general and suddenly realized that this general, whose ambitions were at their peak, was actually still a young man.

He is passionate, rebellious, and prone to acting without considering the consequences, but it is precisely this kind of person who has the potential to change the Middle East.

“I agree!” Bandar spoke first: “As long as we can beat the Zionists, nothing else matters.”

“You are the supreme commander of the expeditionary force,” Ibrahim said. “My task is to obey your orders.”

"Uh, I agree too." Tammy said, surprised that she was the last to speak.

Seeing that he had everyone's support, Lu Lin nodded.

Just then, intermittent sound came from the loudspeaker:
"This is the Balam guerrilla area, someone can hear us. We need help."

"We need help."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The raging fire made the air hot and the oppressive atmosphere filled one with despair.

Silence remained on the other end of the line. A guerrilla fighter gave a bitter smile: "Still no news from the Al-Ilag Front. We've probably been abandoned."

“But we have not given up on ourselves,” Ahmed said, rising to cock his rifle. “Galam will not give up on saving himself. I am with you all.”

Just as he was preparing for one last gamble, the radio suddenly became clear. A strange yet steady voice pierced through the noisy waves:

"This is the Expeditionary Force in the northern border region of Shuangzhi. Hold on, we'll be there soon."

(End of this chapter)